


Suck It And See

by Elle Gray (LGray)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Exhibitionism, Lawyer Draco Malfoy, Locker Room, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, No Angst, No Commitment, No Sex, Quidditch, Sectumsempra Scars, Seekers, Showers, no kissing, vouyeurism, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 00:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17090393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LGray/pseuds/Elle%20Gray
Summary: A high-stakes (noble, upstanding Aurors Vs. Laws & Regulations, scone-stealing wankers) Interdepartmental Quidditch Match leads to a wildly non-regulation post-match shower. In which Harry deals with being watched, a dribbly shower head and thigh bruising, while Malfoy lies, manipulates and inadvertently reveals that the blonde might not be entirely natural.





	Suck It And See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quicksilvermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/gifts).



> Written to dispel the gloom of a bad day. Thanks to Corie for the beta, and Arctic Monkeys for the title.
> 
> ***

Wednesdays are Harry's favourite day of the week. Partly because it's scone day in the MLE cafeteria, and as an Auror, he's less bound to his desk than the other departments and always manages to get himself one before the hoard (from the Laws and Regulations Department) descends and there's nothing left but frightened crumbs.

The other reason is that it's Interdepartmental Social Quidditch day. Which means teaming up with Ron again, four other former Gryffindors, and one very angry, divorced Hufflepuff who’s great with a bat. So far, the Aurors are winning. Tonight might see an end to that, but Harry's going to do his damnedest to make sure it doesn't happen because tonight they're playing Laws and Regs, the scone stealers. And that means he's up against Malfoy. And even though Malfoy's no longer a total dick, he's still a smug, arrogant bastard who likes to point out Harry's less-than-pristine paperwork and pays far too much attention to his own hair.

With an hour left ‘til knock-off, Harry is hit in the nose with a piece of pale grey parchment folded into the shape of a duck. It falls and he watches it flap uselessly on his desk blotter. Perplexing but non-threatening. It's Laws and Regs stationery, he can tell by the colour, and the fancy origami can only be one person. He taps it with his wand and it unfolds itself.

_Potter,_

_Thought it might be inspiring for you to see something that can actually fly, since none of you lot can. Aspire to be the duck._

_Also, get ready to lose._

_Suck it,_

_Malfoy_

Charming. Harry wonders if he should engage with it or rise above. Ron makes the decision for him, walking in with two cups of tea and four biscuits held in his mouth.

'Four biscuits?'

'Two of them are for you,' Ron says defensively after putting Harry's cup down on his desk and removing the biscuits. 'Take the middle two, they have less spit on them.'

'Less spit. Excellent. I'll pass.'

'Harry,' Ron sat down on one of the spare chairs. 'I walked in on you with someone's dick in your mouth a few weeks ago. That's way worse than a slightly soggy biscuit. If you dunk it, it won't even be noticeable.'

'Ron, do you know what a "soggy biscuit" is?'

'Wedt bithkt?' he replied through a mouthful of crumbs, several of which ended up tumbling down the front of his robes and onto Harry's rug.

'No, it's-' he shook his head. 'Don't worry. And the incident with Terry was a whole month ago, and you should _knock_ before waltzing into a bloke's room in the middle of the afternoon. He might be busy.'

'Yeah, well I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. I practically knock on my own door now.'

'Hermione must find that weird?'

'She thinks I'm polite, actually.' Ron looks rather proud of himself.

'Is she coming to the game tonight?'

'Nah, doesn't finish til six, she's meeting us at the pub.'

'Rosie?'

'Staying at Mum's. This is a big one Harry, we're either drinking to celebrate our epic victory or drowning ourselves in shame and shitty whiskey.'

'Why shit whiskey?'

'Because,' Ron says firmly, his eyes blazing over the rim of his tea cup. 'If we lose to fucking _Malfoy's_ team, we won't deserve Ogden's.'

***

The game is hard, longer than anyone has the energy for midweek, and the combined score is well into the hundreds before Harry or Malfoy catch more than a fleeting glimpse of the snitch. With 80 points between them in favour of the Aurors, the endgame begins. Harry spots it first, but Malfoy is paying an unparalleled amount of attention to him and is slower to react by mere seconds, both of them shooting straight up in midfield, then banking hard to Harry's left, toward the clubhouse. He drops down, Malfoy above him and the tiny golden-winged shit veering all over the place and keeping them both on edge and clutching their brooms so tight their knuckles are white. It all goes wrong in a matter of seconds. The fucking snitch dives and zips back the way it came, putting Malfoy in the better position for all of a heartbeat until, of course, they collide. A high-speed tangle of brooms and limbs and solid brass footrests that fucking hurt when they smack you in the knee. They hurt even more when they get your inner thigh. Harry is distantly glad, as he lies on the cold ground, that it didn't get him a bit higher. He'd really like to have kids one day.

'Fuck, Potter, elegant as ever.' Malfoy groans from under him, and shoves Harry's leg off his chest. He winces as he stands, his eyes screwed shut and Harry is glad he's not the only one in pain. Malfoy takes a step so he's standing right above him, the weak sunset lighting his hair gold. 'Also…' he opens his hand, long fingers unfolding to reveal the tiny golden ball. 'Suck it.'

***

The Aurors are inconsolable. Harry feels unbearably guilty and offers to buy the first round. Quinton Silver, the irate former Hufflepuff, decides instead that Harry should be the one to pack up all the gear so the rest of the team can get to the pub faster and get on with drowning their sorrows. And also buy the second round. Or third, depending on how long it takes him to clean up. He's left stowing leather bits in gear bags while both teams take to the showers en masse. There are 14 cubicles dividing the room, and one long, giant shower head servicing all of them. This week his team drew the left side, which has almost all of the required toilet seats, but the end shower cubicle at the back is a bit dribbly and it's always a race to avoid it. As such, he's picking up leather guards from all over the place, scattered in the rush to get naked and clean.

He's rather looking forward to a shower. Though at this rate, it'll be while everyone else is already at the pub. He'll be able to have a nice leisurely wank at least, de-stress a bit. The cubicle walls are a bit low otherwise, just below chin height, and the chances of getting caught are far too high. He's not into that anymore. It wasn't just Ron who learnt something from The Incident with Terry. Harry's no exhibitionist. Voyeurism - fine. But being watched feels too familiar in a bad way, what with the fame and the facial scarring and the world-saving. He's been stared at enough.

The two teams slowly trickle away in twos and threes, all heading for the pub, and the noise level drops further and further ‘til all Harry can hear is water running as he zips up the last giant bag and shrinks it, stowing it with the others. He grabs his towel and clean boxers, and turns to see who's left. The showers stop when everyone is gone, so the fact they're still running means he's not alone, and there'll be no fortifying wank in his near future.

Down the end on the other team’s side, is one tall, short-haired, and by the looks of it, pale blonde, human male. Prick. Catcher of snitches. Winner of matches. It'd have to be fucking Malfoy, wouldn't it? Harry considers taking the nearest stall on his team's side of the locker room and still having a sneaky wank. He's shorter than Malfoy, the shake in his shoulder would be less noticeable from a distance, so long as he kept quiet. And really, after boarding school for six years and sharing a tent 24/7 for another nine months after that, who can't keep quiet?

He strips out of his uniform and wraps his towel around his waist, trying to remember the last time he had a slightly risky wank. As he's resolving the idea, and indeed, beginning to look forward to it, he hears a throaty growl from the other end of the room. His cock, previously perky and swelling slightly in anticipation, gives a hearty twitch that he feels in his gut. Is Malfoy getting himself off? Does he know Harry's still here? Can Harry justify feeling scandalised when he was about to do the exact same thing?

Before he really realises he's doing it, Harry is walking silently down the row of cubicles. Past the nearest one he could've hidden in. _Towards_ Malfoy and his shameless moaning. He listens for more. When he gets closer he sees that Malfoy has one hand wrapped around the top edge of the cubicle wall in front of him, leaning over so the water pounds on the back of his neck. He's looking down and there's no way he's seen Harry approach. With the water running past his ears he probably hasn't even heard him. Harry hears a gasp. Pain or pleasure? Has he missed the show? Was there a show? Is he just licking his wounds in private?

Harry's silent as he opens the cubicle door, the one with the dribbly water, and there's no excuse for him to be this close. No excuse for him to remove his towel and hang it on the back of the door. No reason for him to wrap his steamed up glasses in his clean boxers and cast a wandless impervious over them before he sets them on the tiny bench. Absolutely zero clue why he steps forward into the water and practically joins Malfoy in the shower. They're maybe a metre apart, with one thin wall between them and nothing but convenient angles of vision to hold onto their privacy. He's never even thought about how immodest the cubicles are, but then, they're usually full and loud and completely not sexy.

He's been staring too long. He ducks under the water and gets his hair properly wet. It'd be nothing but creepy to stand there staring, looking dry and out of place. Actually, he should probably wash his hair, it's been a couple days and that was a long, sweaty game. He should also probably try and remember next time, to bring his bag of toiletries into the shower with him instead of getting distracted by nearby blonde wankers and leaving all his stuff in his backpack on the other side of the room. He sluices water off his face and pushes his hair back, opening his eyes.

Malfoy is staring at him.

He looks unfairly attractive, considering his hair is plastered flat to his head and he's scowling. Something about his eyes, the colour of quicksilver, and the sharp cheekbones. Symmetry. A hint of haughtiness. The tiniest sliver of danger. Why did he come down here?

'You couldn't let me enjoy my victory in peace?' he drawls.

'We almost beat you.'

'You didn't, though.'

'It was close.'

'You lost. Like I said you would.'

'Whatever. Do you have any shampoo?' Harry asks, not wanting to go back for his.

Malfoy lifts the hand that isn't holding the wall, and presents a blue glass bottle. He doesn't lean down and pick it up or anything, no other part of him so much as twitches. Which means he's been holding it all along. Not holding his cock. Not wanking. _I guess it was pain then,_ Harry thinks and smirks to himself. He clearly needs to get laid if he's creating debauchery from innocence.

'What?'

Harry's tiredness wars with his imagination and he hears himself telling the truth, 'I thought you were having a wank,' he explains, then gestures to the bottle. 'But apparently not.'

'You thought I was masturbating? So… you came over here?'

Harry shrugs. He literally has no excuse. 'I was curious how perverted you really are.'

'What else are you curious about?' Malfoy says, and there's something behind his tone, something smug. 'I saw Terry the other day. Nice chap.'

Harry's heart stops beating entirely. No one knew about Terry but Ron. Not about _him_ and Terry anyway. And since when is Malfoy friends with him?

'Oh?' he manages to squeak out. Not that he should be embarrassed. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality. Now that he knew what it was. Which is what Terry had been for - confirmation, not outing him to random former classmates. Well. Harry might be blushing right now, but he was still a Gryffindor. 'How's he doing? He was limping a bit last time I saw him. Big smile on his face though.'

Malfoy breaks into a grin and the unfair attractiveness goes up another five notches. As does Harry's cock. For weeks, every time he's thought of Terry his entire crotch has _tingled._ But talking about it with someone who looks like Malfoy when he smiles... naked, wet, alone… his fucking _toes_ are turned on. 'You Gryffindors aren't very good at keeping your own secrets, are you?'

'I think in this instance, Terry is the weak link, thank you very much.'

'Is he?' Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 'He never mentioned you fucking him 'til he couldn't walk. Said you'd come over to lend him a book.'

Bugger. Slytherined. Again. Harry sighed and took the bottle out of Malfoy's grip and poured out some of the pale purple mixture into his palm. 'You win again.'

'Suck it, Potter,' he says, and takes the bottle back.

'Why?' Harry asks, feeling bold and he rubs the mixture into his hair. 'Do you need cheering up?' He's got nothing to lose at this point. He might as well tease Malfoy a bit, see if he can weaponise his bisexuality and make the sneaky bastard feel some sort of remorse about bringing it up so tactlessly.

'That's not what I meant, but if you're offering?'

He's probably bluffing. Right? Harry's heard nothing about Malfoy being into guys. Though, to be fair, he's heard nothing about him being into girls either. Maybe he's into sitting at home alone with cats and meddling in other people's romantic trysts instead. Or maybe he's just really private. Maybe he really does want to know if Harry's offering. Having a wank seems pathetic if his other option is… this. A fit, naked blonde he used to hate. One who sends him goading, duck-shaped notes and doesn't freak out at the thought of Harry watching him wank.

'Beating me in one game isn’t _that_ impressive. I make a point of only getting on my knees for cup-winners,' Harry says, because he should probably wash himself if something's going to happen, and he'll need more time for that. Banter takes up time.

'Whole teams?' Both blonde eyebrows shoot upwards. 'You dirty bitch. I had no idea.'

'That was one time,' Harry says seriously, before ducking his head under to rinse. And to leave Malfoy hanging for a second. 'Besides,' he says, stepping out of the water and slicking his hair back. 'It was the National Champs, they deserved it.'

'Are you fucking serious?' Malfoy looks half scandalised.

'No. Oh my god, what kind of whore do you think I am?'

'What, _now?'_ Malfoy steps closer to the dividing wall, resting his chin on it. 'Or when I'm alone? Because to be honest I never think of you being any good at any of it, so, I'd say, quite a bad whore. Very cheap. Not really worth it. Probably better off just staying home and dealing with it alone.'

'I'll have you know I'm a very attentive partner,' Harry says, surprised to hear his voice come out steady, since he's so fucking nervous all of a sudden he's pretty sure his fingers are shaking as he squirts generic body wash into his hand from the thing on the wall. Even the feeling of the soft gel hitting his palm is turning him on, let alone Malfoy admitting he _thinks about him_ when he's _alone._

'Good.'

'Good?' Harry repeats. Because what do you say to that, and because he has even more imperative to get clean now. Quickly. Because he’s pretty sure something is about to happen, and he's not entirely sure what it is, but they're already naked so it could be anything.

'You put in a good effort out there this evening. Seems a shame to walk away with nothing to show for it. Or to be able to walk away at all.'

Harry huffs out a laugh. That was one thing he and Terry had definitely confirmed. 'I don't bottom,' he says as he rinses soap from under his arms and goes for more.

'Neither do I,' Malfoy smirks. 'Typical. Looks like I might miss out on your _attentiveness_ after all?'

'Seems a waste of an opportunity to just do _nothing,'_ Harry says, soaping his arse with one hand and his balls with the other, knowing it'll make his cock bob, knowing Malfoy could see it if he just looked down. He skims his fingers up and down the crease of his arse, over the puckered furl of skin and muscle as he watches Malfoy, waits to see what he'll say.

'I suppose,' he hedges. 'What did you have in mind?'

Harry shrugs again, and moves both hands to his cock, the soft slide of the lather making him gasp a tiny bit. He's fully hard now and even if he's not getting laid, he'd really like to get off. He'd really like Malfoy to look down. He'd really, _really_ like there to be no wall between them, and for Malfoy to actually have that wank he was thinking about earlier. 'Well. It seems a bit unfair that you can see me right now but I can't see you.'

At that, Malfoy finally drops his gaze, a small, appreciative sound coming from his throat. 'I don't mind unfair.'

'I do.'

'Well come over here then,' he says, his eyes not leaving Harry's hands as they _very thoroughly_ rinse every tiny bubble of soap from his shaft, sliding his foreskin back, exposing the dark pink head to the soft droplets of falling water.

It's a mind-shattering combination — water hitting his most sensitive parts and Malfoy inviting him closer. He's almost mad with arousal, and all the sensible reasons they shouldn't be doing this stay in his cubicle as he Apparates into Malfoy's, suddenly close enough to see individual water droplets on his chest as he turns, razor-fine scars reaching all the way down to his hip, and a surprisingly dark blonde, and unsurprisingly well-groomed, trail of hair leading from his navel down to… wow. Possibly the nicest looking cock Harry has ever seen. He immediately _wants it._ Somehow. He's no idea what for if they're both refusing to bottom, but maybe he can taste it, at least. See how it feels against his tongue. He gives his own a few slow tugs, and thinks he sees Malfoy's twitch in response. He looks up. Into molten metal and wide, black pupils. He kind of wants to kiss him, but he doesn't know if that's part of whatever they're doing here. He's a tiny bit out of his depth.

'I'm here,' he says. 'What are you going to do now?'

'Nothing,' Malfoy breathes. 'I'm just going to watch you.'

Everything Harry has always hated about being stared at is suddenly meaningless. Malfoy's known him for years, they've seen each other at their worst, saved each others lives more than once. His gaze sees all there actually is, not a hero or an idea or a conquest. Same as when Harry looks at him he doesn't see just a wealthy Pureblood heir, or a former Death Eater, or a guy so fucking fit he should be charging admittance to his personal space. Harry sees… possibility.

'I wanna watch you too,' he says. 'Please.'

Malfoy smirks as he wraps his long fingers around his cock and strokes himself, slowly, his eyes fixed on Harry. 'Since you asked nicely,' he says as he leans back against the cubicle wall and gives himself another long stroke. Harry watches him set a lazy rhythm, watches the pale pink head darken, watches the length of him throb and thicken. His own hand is a blur, and he forces himself to slow down, to make it last. 'No,' Malfoy scolds him gently. 'As you were before. I want to watch you come apart.'

'Fuck, Malfoy,' Harry groans, returning to the blissfully frantic pace and feeling himself nearing that merciless downward slide where he won't be able to stop himself anymore. 'I'm not going to last.'

'Good.'

That word again. Harry takes in the artfully casual stance, the blown irises, the carefully controlled rhythm, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Malfoy's barely holding it together himself and the thought of that, the thought that it might be _him_ making that happen is what tips him over the precipice. He feels the rush and the animal urge to buck his hips and fuck into his fist and his balls draw up tight. Malfoy must notice, because he gives up his sedate paces and his hand starts to move in earnest, a throaty purr coming from his mouth.

'That sound,' Harry gasps. 'Before. You were,' and it's not a question because he knows it's true. And fuck if that isn't hot. He loses it right then, thinking of Malfoy watching him while he was touching himself, and suddenly they're so close together, he ends up painting stripes of hot come all over Malfoy's cock, and it had to have been on purpose because all Malfoy's doing is rubbing it in and speeding up and ordering him to his knees.

Harry drops to the floor like he's made of water, leaning back so he's resting against the wall, head tipped back, breathing heavily through his open mouth. Malfoy is standing over him, one hand wrapped around the top of the wall, the other flying over his slickened cock, and fuck, the most glorious sounds are coming out of his mouth, like he can't even help it. Harry's not sure what to do, but they've only agreed to watch, not to touch, so he stays still, waiting for one of those growls to turn into a shout and to feel the wet heat of release hit his face.

But Malfoy's very specific. 'Open your mouth,' he demands, almost breathless, and Harry complies just in time to catch most of it on his tongue as the blonde’s rigid control goes to pieces above him, panting and mewling and shuddering til he's wrung every last drop out of himself. 'Potter,' he says, breathing heavily.

'Yeah?'

'Next Wednesday?'


End file.
